Continued Forever
by Emmeline's Embers
Summary: In an attempt to find inspiration, published author Guinevere Grateston sets out on a cross country journey hoping to finish her second novel and find the part of herself that has been missing since birth. Unfortunately, she reaches Santa Fe inspiration-less, so her chance meeting with a past life full of passion is an exciting change of pace. ONE SHOT! Reborn Rin x Sesshomaru!


**Continued Forever**

_FINALLY! My first attempt at a Sesshy/Rin short! I'm so excited I can hardly contain myself. _

_Please, do enjoy! BUT, remember that I don't own InuYasha and never will. _

* * *

**How do I express **into words how empty I feel?

That's what writer's block feels like most of the time. If it's not actually not knowing how to word something but still having the idea there, it's feeling empty. I write when strong emotions or excitement over take my being.

Normally, the most present feeling is anger. Sometimes it's depression. It grips a hold of me and seeks a way out, writing being my form of expression.

Is it too much to ask for someone to piss me off? Being happy is literally the worst thing a writer can be. There is no need to write when happy or content. If you're content, you keep doing what you're doing. When you're happy, you smile.

Feeling emptiness is not a stranger to my being. I have struggled with the empty, gnawing feeling inside myself since childhood. It's a never ending black hole of sin that shallows one's personality whole.

Emptiness is not boredom, it cannot be cured by over eating, and no person can fill the void. Most times, I can wait for it to pass or sleep it off.

It's almost eleven at night now and most places in this one horse town are closed to those unlucky enough to be under twenty one. Not a single place or thing can possibly occur in this moment of time.

My name is Guinevere Grateston and I'm a writer. My thoughts were similar to the one's expressed above almost a year ago when I left on my journey, the goal to travel until inspiration hit.

The first book I ever wrote was published my junior year of High School to rave reviews. I went on talk shows and took interviews from various exciting people. My book was a crime novel surrounding a romantic adventure titled _Born On A Cross Road_. House wives everywhere loved it and Oprah had me on her couch for fifteen minutes in May of my senior year.

My editor is urging me to produce another best seller to be released before they finish the movie of _Born, _whichhits theaters next summer. So, after graduation I took the earnings from my book and bought a new car, one sturdy enough to survive traveling country, and hit the open road. My destination was not a place, but a feeling. One that wrote the story and filled that black hole of dark emotions inside me.

The idea sounded as if nothing could be more exciting when, in reality, it was anything but. Most of the country is all the same. Once you see the sites, the tourist attractions, you find that everyone is going about their business-doing the same thing in Oklahoma as they are in my home state of West Virginia.

Ellie, my mother, constantly worries about my safety from the confines of the home I recently paid off for her. She's a complicated woman with enough ADHD to make holding down a job difficult.

My father is a drummer, or was it a vacuum cleaner salesman? It depends on what day of the week you ask Ellie.

Something Ellie didn't realize I had was my earliest memories. Images and voices from my past that I secretly held dear. They were of my birth mother. Her smiles, bright and healthy, filled my most pleasant dreams. Unfortunately, my nightmares held images of the sickness that changed her shining brown hair to a dull, stingy tangle and erased the glint in her brown eyes.

I'm proud of Ellie, though; she raised me as if I was hers and she was mine. Never did I think she didn't love me with every fiber of her ADHD rattled being. Recently, she started getting help and had begun a round of medicines that make her slow down and focus. Yes, it is difficult to see her in such a zombie state but she's doing better on it. Her bills are getting paid on time and she's been a secretary to a car insurance agent in town for two months steady, a record!

Maybe being in this town for the night has brought me back to the emptiness. It's so familiar to my little home town, where everyone knows everyone and there is only one traffic light in the entire place.

Possibly it's the quiet, the unsettling sound of one's own thoughts bouncing on the inside of your skull. The lack of activity produced this quiet, the night being so mild that there was no use for the ceiling fan in the small room I had rented when I couldn't drive any further.

I decided against turning on the television. It's a useless box to me. I rarely ever watch it and, when I do, it's always the news. The lack of it battles off any temptation to steal or morph someone else's idea into your own.

The hotel I was currently in was designed for maximum use of space and functionality. At the front sits a full sized mattress now covered in one of Elle's "home made" quilts she orders offline that she insists I keep in the car with me. It's a pale blue pattern with alternating flowers in the octagon shaped bits of fabric. The border surrounding the pattern was an American flag.

In the back part of the room sits a kitchenette with only the essentials: a sink, three gas stove eyes, a small oven, and a refrigerator. It had little counter space and sat across from a dull, honestly too small couch.

All in all, my living space was comfortable and cozy. I didn't carry around a lot of things with me aside from the small amount of clothing I own, which sits in the small closet across from the equally tiny bathroom.

The only thing accompanying me on this journey is my laptop, ole' faithful.

So far, this journey has inspired me to write not a damned thing. There are several files on my computer of various beginnings. If I could ever follow through with them, they would be wonderful novels.

Sometimes, I start to think I should pack up and drive home. Use my book money to go to college and get a real job. But then, I'll get cut off in Atlanta rush hour traffic and get enough inspiration to storm through seven or so chapters, typing fast enough to burn my fingers on the key board and not caring about the unavoidable spelling mistakes.

Maybe I can murder someone or rob a bank. Then I could write my book from prison. My editor would be pleased, at least.

I shake my head and turn out the light, standing to travel the short distance to my bed. Tomorrow, I start driving out of this West Texas town. Hopefully, the emptiness will stay here. Where it belongs.

**A Deputy Sheriff of Santa **Fe, New Mexico had his car parked next to the welcome sign as you entered town. He was obviously not trying to catch anyone, just making drivers slow down by his mere presence. He lazily held his radar gun about waist high as he leaned against his cruiser.

I honestly wouldn't be surprised if he was asleep behind those dark sunglasses. His hat tipped forward slightly in a fashion that did nothing to convince me of his consciousness.

Santa Fe is a city that eats people, swallowing their hopes and dreams whole. The crime rate was high and the amount of naive tourist higher. It wasn't long before the camping family of four in a KOA would discover the camera missing from their shining SUV. Or a struggling single mother of two would be mugged on her way home from work.

It was just the type of excitement I need. This adventure is about experiencing things and throwing caution to the wind, all for the sake of creativity.

The dusty tan landscape hadn't changed much since I entered the state earlier that morning, and it didn't look likely to do so any time soon. On the concrete of the overpass, a man on a donkey and a cactus were carved and painted to add character, to break up the monotony of the tan. It reminds me of the magnolias on the sound barriers as you enter Mississippi after passing through Memphis.

I'm glad for the green of the cactus. The landscape is tan, the houses are tan. Even the people are tan. Myself ever-so-slightly included into the category after falling asleep on a beach in Gulf Port not long ago. Tan, I have decided, is not a color that inspires.

It's the color people with no courage or strong opinions paint their walls and call "neutral". Not that there is anything wrong with that, but it screamed lack of creativity to me. I'm not one to settle down in one place for long.

**It's just around **ten thirty in the morning when I, in all my feminine glory, decided to stop for a restroom break before my eyeballs float out of their sockets. The urge to go came on strong, not offering much of a forewarning before I was almost ripping the steering wheel off in an effort to control my bladder.

As you should expect nothing less of me, I barely managed to place my car in park before _gracefully_ jumping out of my car and leaping towards the doors of the Exxon. In my haste, I failed to see the silver haired man standing in the long line just a few feet from the glass doors that were still slowly closing from my wildly swinging them open.

The sound of my butt landing on the cold tile of the store was embarrassingly loud. Glancing up at the man with only one eye open, a grimace swallowed my sometimes pretty features. "I am so sorry! Are you okay?" Even as the words leave my mouth I'm launching my slim body upwards, already taking the steps in the directions of the restroom sign.

I throw a look black at the silver haired man as I push the heavy door open, his face engulfed in that of wonder. I didn't analyze it too far but the man was strikingly handsome, with the kind of hard, rugged features a woman wanted in a man.

The kind of features that made a shudder crawl its way up my spine as I hovered over the seat to relieve myself. The cave woman deep inside myself was drooling at the thought of his muscled arms that served as proof of a strong hunter and protector.

Peeking out the door after I washed my hands, I saw that the silver haired man candy was absent from the small building. I was somewhat glad, my self esteem wiping her brow dramatically at the thought of avoiding what would have been an awkward situation of epic proportions.

The bounce returns to my steps as I confidently emerge from the safety of the public restroom. My feet made hardly any sound as they quickly cross the small space and lead my body out of the glass doors.

It's far too bright outside, my hand comes up to rest on my brow bone, effectively blocking the sunlight, and my peripheral vision.

I was stepping off the curb, looking down to watch for any obstacles that might've tripped me, when a cool hand shot out to grasp the wrist attached to the hand blocking the sunlight from my eyes. The movement disturbed me, made me gasp in surprise as the hand forced me to turn directly into the personal space of the silver haired sex-god from inside. "What?"

"Hey, I said I was sorry..." I look up at the man fully for the first time, making eye contact with a pair of piercing golden orbs that could not have been natural to a human being.

'_They obviously belong to a demon,' _the thought floats quietly around some far off corner of my mind that I'm barely aware of at that moment, too transfixed by the budding feeling of completeness.

The man steps even closer to my stunned, much shorter body that was still being held captive by the forgotten wrist. Our eye contact still burned through me even as I saw his eyes half close with an expression I could only describe as pure pleasure accompanying his inhalation of my natural scent.

In the same far corner of my mind, the regret of not wearing perfume shoots through me and manages to flush my cheeks a gentle pink that the man would later tell me he found stunning. "Rin?"

The man's voice calling out a name that was not mine snapped me out of the trance. I yanked my wrist away by pressing against his thumb and proceeded to quickly put a few feet between our still burning bodies. "No. You have the wrong person."

Silver hair gleamed in the bright light from where it was cropped close to his head in a masculine, yet professional style. I continued my assessment of him from my safe distance. He wore a deep blue business suit that could've come straight from the Armani store, clean and pressed over his blindingly white collared shirt which somehow managed to emphasize the tone of his chest.

I raised my eye brow and bit the right side of my bottom lip unconsciously as the image of the black tie he wore encouraged a fantasy that further ignited the passion burning ever-silently through my body in a way that was utterly unusual for me. The fantasy continued to replay and fog over any rational thought.

In my mind, the deep black of his tie was an infinite abyss against the perfect paleness of the skin on his wrists as it held both to the headboard accompanying the bed his tall body splayed across, naked. Any semblance of moisture in my mouth vanished at the thought of tracing my tongue over every available surface of his chest, painfully slow as it traveled further down his body.

Shaking out of the reverie, color once again flooded my face. "I'm sorry, what'd you say?"

I lick my chapped lips as his own open to form the strange words that escaped. "I asked what your name is? In every other life it's been Rin."

"My name is Guin and I'm sad to inform you that you're out of your mind," it's literally painful to step away from him, the front of my body still faced him as I backed away from the insanity that must have this man's entire being gripped tight.

He steps closer still, eyes still focused on mine. Even as I pick up my pace, I am completely aware of my once comatose genitalia screaming obscenities at the thought of escaping his devilish plans for us. When his lips form the cocky smirk that was entirely _him_ it is almost my undoing.

I know at this point that my self control cannot possibly withstand much more of this sensual attack, one that promised ultimate pleasure if I caved, that was currently locked and loaded on my small form. My back hits the trunk of my car and shatters all of the inhibitions plaguing my mind, even the ones that had been drilled into my mind by Ellie since the day sex became a topic in our house hold.

Shame was sure to fill me later but, at that moment, I couldn't find an ounce of it as I reached out, quickly grasping the back of his neck to pull him into my kiss.

The kiss lasted far longer than any my body ever had before, it's intensity surpassing all previous experiences by light years. His tongue was velvety soft in a way I didn't expect from such a hardened man as it danced erotically with my own. "Hm," I breath into his mouth, my available hand dropping from his shoulder to glide slowly down the planes of his chest before finally allowing my long, thin fingers to loop into the belt that dared to hold any form of clothing to his delicious body.

His hands both come to grip my own, effectively stopping any efforts I made to tug on the offending object, thoroughly breaking apart our panty soaking kiss. "Control yourself and get in your car. Passenger seat."

His golden eyes meet my own brown orbs once more, finally forcing the memories of eight lifetimes full of love and laughter and children from the box it was previously trapped inside. I gasped as I came to realize the black hole I continuously failed to fill in the past was that of my memories, my brain desperately missing the other half of myself reserved for when _he_ finally found me.

The smile that spread across my ninth face was unlike any other it had previously formed, outshining even the hot desert sun in its' new found happiness. "Took you long enough, Mate." The endearment was foreign to my lips but not my soul.

Finally, the next chapter of my forever with Lord Sesshomaru had begun.

* * *

_Look at that, it's done. Wasn't so hard, actually..._

_Everyone, have a wonderful day and may the Literature Fairies of Creativity be forever in your favor. _

_LOVE AND INSANITY,_

_Emme._


End file.
